Desperate to Feel
by SereneJourney
Summary: Sometimes, feeling is too much of a burden to bear. TW: Self-Harm Depression


There are times for everyone where they feel alone. Desperate for contact and at the same time totally unworthy of it. Some people experience this more than others. Marceline was usually fairly friendly, at least with her friends. Tonight, though, was the third night in a row that she muted her phone and threw it across her room with a dull _thunk_ instead of answering a call from her girlfriend.

She felt guilty. Of course she did. Separating yourself from the people that care the most about you is possibly the worst thing to do when you're in the depths of a depressive episode. She knew this for a fact, but she still found herself staring at her ceiling in the dark, alone.

She raised a hand up toward the darkness, splaying her fingers out wide. _I just want to go home._

Where is home? Really? Is it a place? Is it a person? Is it both? Is it neither? These questions perplexed Marceline. She knew what her desire was, but not how to fulfill it. She let the arm fall limply to her side, bouncing off her unmade mattress.

_I'm sorry, Bonnie._ She could hear the faint buzzing sound of another call. Her emotions felt dull. Like someone had draped a thick blanket over her heart. She could feel the sadness and guilt, but not experience them the way she knew she could on other days.

Marceline sat in the darkness, listening to her phone periodically ring, for... some amount of time. She wasn't sure how long. She wanted to scream, to cry, to hurt herself just to _feel_. Once the thought crossed her mind, it was hard to dislodge.

She knew she had things in her apartment to help her in the task. Numbly, she started to unwind from her blankets and sheets. She could feel the stick of sweat from them as they peeled off her. She'd been laying down a long time.

Her kitchen was no help. Bonnie had hidden the knives and sharp implements long ago - the only way that Marceline could prepare anything to eat was by asking to be given one. It made her feel like a child, but she understood why. She couldn't be trusted with a knife.

She roughly yanked open a junk drawer, shuffling around inside it. Her hands alight on something wonderful - a pair of needle-nosed pliers. This was the realest thing she's felt in days. It was dread. Bonnie will be mad.

She marched towards the bathroom. Bonnie had recently agreed to allow her a razor to shave with. _Guess I'm losing that privilege again._ With a rough pull of the pliers, she rips a blade free from its casing.

Marceline gripped it comfortably in between her fingers. Like an old friend. A comfort that could never get too far away.

Just before she was able to break skin, she heard a loud, furious knocking on her front door. She ignored it, bringing the blade closer to her thigh. _I'm sorry, but I need to feel something._

The searing hot pain of skin being broken was never pleasant, but Marceline nearly cried with joy at the sensation. She does cry, but she can't place the emotion that causes it. Fear? Elation? Panic? Regret?

She doesn't have time to think before a new type of pain breaks through her clouded mind. She sees bright pink standing in the doorframe of the bathroom. Guilt lanced through her body like lightning.

Before Marceline can give an excuse, she hears, "Oh, god, Marcy... I'm so sorry..." _You're sorry? Why do you always say that? It's my fault._

A gentle hand took away her comfort, throwing it into the trash bin. The pliers are gently coaxed away next, and she is guided to sit on the edge of the bathtub. "Let's get you cleaned up." She could tell Bonnie was crying, and it hurt. It was her fault.

The sting of an alcohol wipe hit her fresh cut, followed by a large bandage. She wasn't even sure where Bonnie got the first aid kit from. Did she bring it with her? Was Marceline so untrustworthy that she had assumed the worst? She was probably right to do so.

"At least this one wasn't so bad." She felt a gentle hand rubbing her upper back. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. You said you were writing something and I didn't want to bother you." _There you go again. Apologizing to me for something I did._

Marceline managed to whisper out, "...s'okay." The first word she'd spoken in three days. She was made to stand, being lightly pulled to her feet.

"Come on, Marcy. You're staying over tonight." The ride passed in a blur. She knew where she was, why she was there. She didn't understand the kindness. Her fog had yet to lift, only slightly pierced by the pain from earlier.

She was led gently into the bedroom of an apartment that she knew well. "Lay down, sweetie. I'll be right back." She obeyed. Of course she did, what else could she do? Bonnie would never leave her alone again if she hurt herself right here, in her girlfriend's bedroom.

It wasn't long after laying down and turning to face the wall that Marceline felt a familiar weight in the bed behind her. Gently, tenderly, she felt a hand rest on her side. "I love you, Marcy. It'll get better soon." A kiss upon the back of her head.

She didn't believe Bonnie. But she closed her eyes and let the warmth take her to sleep. She felt the edges of her mouth tug into a slight smile against her will when she was pulled closer to the source of the comforting radiance.

Maybe, just maybe, Bonnie was right.


End file.
